Homecoming
by Paige Cruz
Summary: For this dorky pair, that's the best part of the day. A new installment of oneshots for the 2nd Koutaba Week.


**Day 1: Sniff**

**NSFW, hastily-written. Go away, kiddies. **Also, I've got school tomorrow, so I'm posting this a day early.****

* * *

"Did you lock the door?"

Kou moves without delay, shedding the remains of his shirt before grasping her hips to hoist her onto a desk. Large, deft hands swiftly tug on her necktie, pulling it free from its intricate knot to join his shirt on the floor. The buttons of her blouse are a bit trickier, so he takes his sweet time, preoccupying himself with nibbling on the shell of her ear, his actions making the hair on her neck stand on end. Futaba opens her mouth to repeat her question when he beats her to it.

"Don't worry about it."

Futaba jumps and leans away from him, planting two hands firmly on his bare chest as she fixes him an incredulous look. "What—you _didn't_? What if somebody walks in and _sees_?!" She recalls the countless times they came so close to getting caught in the heat of passion—by _Tanaka-sensei,_ no less—and her face burns at the memory.

She tells him so.

Her boyfriend rolls his eyes and pops the last button free, pushing the white fabric off her shoulders to admire the soft slopes of her body. She feels herself flush tenfold, but struggles to keep her arms from crossing over her chest and bites her lip in silent protest. His usually calm eyes turn into a stormy grey as they zero in on her breasts, and she nearly draws blood when a hand comes up to palm her through her bra.

Her breath hitches the moment his thumb ghosts over an erect tip. He nudges her lightly on the nose, mouth moving along the angle of her jaw.

"My brother's not going to walk in on us. I called in this morning, he says he's caught the flu," he reasons, whispering against the swell of her lips. Futaba is distracted by his kisses, barely registering how his hands creep under her thigh, fingers tracing over the sensitive flesh. Her own hands drift toward his back, nails digging crescents into the skin.

"S-still… there are other teachers." She mutters into his neck, hyperaware of their mutual state of undress and the heat beginning to pool between her legs. She catches a whiff of his usual scent—a mix of spring and cologne with a hint of sweat, and sighs almost inaudibly. Kou brushes his lips atop her head fondly.

"School's out, babe. Plus, it's a Friday. People are either itching to go home or partying the weekend away. Nobody's coming in… or getting out."

Without warning, Kou drops to his knees, and Futaba nearly topples off the desk, hands flailing uselessly in the air before latching onto his shoulders for support. He smirks at her glare and bunches her skirt above her hips, fingertips tracing patterns on the inside of her thighs. Her body responds eagerly, _the_ _traitor_, legs spreading wide open to accommodate his broad form.

Warm hands circle around her wrists, gently removing their iron hold on his shoulders. He takes great care to press a kiss onto each fingertip, mumbling praises as he does so, and something other than want stirs inside Futaba, who thinks to herself that she's more than just a little in love.

"Lean back a bit, Futaba. I've got you." He finally says, letting go of her hands to brace her hips. She moves in compliance, her weight shifting backwards as she leans on one hand, the other pushing his unruly hair from his brow. He pauses, closes his eyes, and leans into her palm for a moment.

"Comfy?" She asks, giggling.

She spies the corners of his lips quirk up a bit, and gasps again when he suddenly cups her through the thin material of her underwear, already damp with need.

Kou chuckles mischievously against her thigh, "Not really. But soon, I will be."

And the next thing she knows, her underwear is dangling off one ankle and his hands are busy doing god knows what magic on her, teasing the rim of her folds mercilessly before swiping a single digit deep inside her—"Fuck—KOU!"

Futaba clamps a hand to her mouth, blushing instantly at her own reaction. The boy in question all but withdraws completely, and she whimpers in complaint. He looks pointedly at her hand, tapping a beat on her knee expectantly.

"Don't hide that pretty little mouth of yours, babe. I want to hear you say my name _loud and clear_." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and though the red coloring his cheeks gives away his own embarrassment, he doesn't look away. She scoffs, but then her hand is falling away, and on her lips, a small grin threatens to break out.

"Lovely."

He flashes her a winsome smile right before sliding a finger into her once more. She's better prepared this time, clenching her teeth in an effort to smother the gasp tickling her throat, but Kou is relentless and adds his lips into the mix.

Futaba doesn't stand a chance.

His breath is hot as he kisses his way up to the junction between her thighs with two fingers already curling deep into her core. Her legs move on their own accord, ankles locking behind his head in an effort to bring him closer. Shuddering, she rocks her pelvis against his hand, fingers running through his hair in encouragement.

His digits dance with ease, gliding in and out of her at a regular pace. They hit a certain spot three, four times maybe?—she doesn't know, she's lost count the second time around—causing the girl to throw her head back and moan his name into the empty classroom.

'_Hell, how is nobody hearing this right now?_' she wonders, and then forgets the matter entirely when he hits that one spot again.

"Futaba," he calls out hoarsely.

She fights to keep her eyes open, lips slightly parted for breath as she focuses on the dark mop of hair beneath her. She hears herself begging him to go "_faster, harder… oh god, Kou, please don't stop!_" and he does just that, fingers incessant in their ministrations. He takes her higher and higher until she's just right beside the edge, all the while holding her gaze, his own breath short and ragged, his pupils blown wide with desire.

He watches her writhe frantically, her words all but incoherent pants, until he catches the silent plea in her eyes and answers in kind, ducking underneath her skirt to seek out her clit. His nose bumps against the bundle of nerves, sending a delicious jolt up her spine and back, and she tugs on his hair impatiently in response. Embarrassingly, she feels him sniff at her arousal and weakly squeaks her disapproval.

When he speaks, his voice is a lot heavier than normal, the gruff sound vibrating on her skin.

"What? I like the way you smell—sort of sweet."

Futaba colors and starts to protest, but then his mouth closes in, and she sees stars.


End file.
